I am indebted to interior decorator Nicky Haslam for increasing my sum of knowledge of Paris Hilton. In his one-off, typically recherché, society diary in ES Magazine last Friday he recounts a visit to The Ivy – one of the best notice-me establishments London offers – in the company of the hotel chain heiress, actor Rupert Everett, Jade Jagger and her “devastatingly handsome” musician boyfriend Dan Williams – nice to see that the queer roué can still get a hard-on and he must be closer to 70 than 60.
What impressed me most was his recollection of Hilton’s drinks order. “Chilled vodka in one glass, un-iced still water in another, in the third, iced pineapple juice, sipped in strict rota.” He reported that the next day she was off to Amsterdam “to ride a bike by the canals.”
“Do you have to go incognito?” asked Nicky.
“What’s that?” she replied.
In other news he claimed to have been asked onto I’m A Celebrity … and modestly thought that the producers were scraping the barrel with that invitation. On the contrary, he would have been perfect. He was not at all impressed by the current lot on the show. He wrote: “David Gest would certainly put even his posthumous father-in-law Vincente Minnelli, who is said to have liked watching handsome young hustlers in bed with his various wives, off voyeurism.”
All this bodes well for his memoirs, Writing On The Wall, expected to hit the fan in March of next year courtesy of Weidenfeld & Nicolson. Retentive of memory, beady of eye, Tallulah Bankhead’s once-admirer is driven to make us all feel like outsiders to his Olympus. I can’t think of a better personality-type for gossipy outrage.